


The Story of A Boy Who Swallowed A Star And Another Boy Who Doesn't Really Care About Those Kinds Of Things But Still Gets Caught Up In This Mess

by daedalust



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Curses, Hirugami as Sophie, Hoshiumi as Howl, Magic, More Tags To Be Added Later Once I Figure Out What I'm Doing With This, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28851252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daedalust/pseuds/daedalust
Summary: “You’re like a little brown bird who’s never spread your wings to fly before, aren’t you?” the white-haired boy teases, his hair blending in with the crowds. “C’mon. I won’t let you fall.”Sachirou shakes his head, burrowing his face in the stranger’s flowing white shirt. The material is far fancier than anything he’s worked with before.Am I really scared of heights? I’ve never been high enough to know.He feels the stranger’s chest vibrate with laughter, directed at him.Hoshiumi Kourai is a wizard, Hirugami Sachirou is a boy who's tired of making hats, but never bargained for a life change this great.
Relationships: Hirugami Sachirou/Hoshiumi Kourai
Comments: 19
Kudos: 48





	The Story of A Boy Who Swallowed A Star And Another Boy Who Doesn't Really Care About Those Kinds Of Things But Still Gets Caught Up In This Mess

**Author's Note:**

> for [kamomedies](url) who also did amazing artwork based off the scene in this chapter. you're the best!

_"A heart's a heavy burden."_

~

##  **I**

~

Past the rolling grassy hills of Shinzen and the concrete ruins of Karasuno, the land of Kamomedai sprawls along a quiet coastline. A small sea-town with a population of under a thousand and quaint houses, Kamomedai doesn’t boast the grand castles you’d expect in Inarizaki or the riches of Seijoh, but it’s a comfortable place that’s untouched by magic and strife. 

Despite existing in a realm where magic was abundant, Kamomedai remained detached from the conflict that existed outside its walls. Clashes between witches and wizards; politicians and kingdoms; classes and ideals; all of these had taken place in Kamomedai years before it spread to the other lands. If there was anything that this boring country prided themselves in, it was learning these lessons before their neighbors. Inscribed on the side of a marble statue in the time’s square were the words: “Make a habit out of peace.” 

Kamomedai stays ever constant in a world that moves too fast, as the elders would say. Even its people stay constant, upholding family traditions and occupations to the point that what you do becomes who you are. There’s no one that knows it better than Hirugami Sachirou, who’s been stringing together hats since he strung together his first sentence.

At 18 years old, Sachirou sits at his workshop with five more bonnets in queue, impervious to the precession of May Day happening outside his window. People his age are out and about in the town square, dancing and drinking while he continues stitching flower after flower. Over time, May Day has become a holiday synonymous with courtship. It’s one of nature’s laws that courting means bringing out your best appearance. Sachirou knows that means that he’ll be “making lots of pretty hats for pretty people”, which to him, is synonymous with “Hell.”

Sachirou stares down at his hands. He’s wrapped some bandages around the parts of his fingers where the joints are starting to throb uncomfortably, and his fingertips are so dry and calloused, he’s sure that he wouldn’t even notice if he’d pricked himself.

Angrily shaking his head as a bead of sweat slides down his cheek, Sachirou puts aside his latest hellspawn (a royal purple hat with cherry blossoms sewn down an embroidered branch) decides he’s earned a break. He cracks open the window, letting in the sun and smoke from down below, leans against the pane, and closes his eyes.

He’s done so many stitches that Sachirou still sees the patterns when he closes his eyes. A part of him feels a jolt of spite as he sees people dance below him like frilled pinwheels with their fancy bonnets and fancy dresses... 

It’s not often Sachirou is allowed to show defiance in any way. His late father raised him better than that, and he’s prone to keeping his less pleasant words as thoughts, shoved away to the back of his mind. Instead, he simply curses under his breath and plunges his hands into the pocket of his apron, fishing for a lighter with one hand and a cigarette for another. A part of him hopes that the smoke will travel far enough to be a nuisance to someone.

He gleefully imagines that the first person to complain about the smell of smoke was that girl who nagged him to sew on more of those tiny diamond-beads into her hat. _“Like the starry night sky, not a dingy mine!”_ she protested. Sachirou lets out a spiteful chuckle. “Damn you and your starry night sky,” he growls under his breath, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the crowd below him.

Before he can continue, he hears a loud sigh from behind him. His sister Shouko has dropped by to visit without notice again. She’s coming from the bakery, all dolled up (to attract more customers, no doubt), bringing with her the scent of fresh-baked bread. “Sachirou,” she says with a disappointed drawl. “What are you still doing here at the shop?”

“Upholding our family legacy. Papa would be proud,” Sachirou replies dryly, tapping away at the excess ash at the end of his cigarette. 

“Papa would not be proud to see how you’re living your life,” Shouko crosses her arms, pointing at him accusingly. He hates this part. “Why are you holed up here on such a beautiful day?”

“Well Shou, Some of us have work to do. What if the birth rate goes down in Kamomedai because I’m too lazy to finish a bunch of measly hats?” he shoots back.

“Now you’re just being difficult,” Shouko snaps, walking over to Sachirou and snatching the cigarette out of his hand, to which he lets out an indignant noise. “You know, I was talking to the girls at the shop today and they were talking about how you’re ‘wasted beauty.’”

“I am no such thing.”

Sachirou dodges a swipe from Shouko.

“You literally look like me. And believe it or _not_ , but your big sister has so many suitors that I’m spending my May Day in hiding.”

“Can’t you just tell everyone you already have Kanoka-chan?”

Sachirou dodges another swipe from Shouko. He’s not sure how he’s earned that one.

“You are _so_ naive. Maybe even worse than Fukuro. Part of my appeal at the bakery is that everyone thinks they have a chance with me and keep coming back. It’s how I get such nice tips,” Shouko says, putting a hand on her hip. She looks laughably smug at the moment, and Sachirou can’t help but crack a smile. 

“Mhm,” Sachirou says, wincing as his sister puts out his cigarette on his workshop table and tosses it away. _So much for my pick-me-up._

“If you operated more like I did, maybe there’d be some rich, powerful hat buyer who’d come by your shop, take pity on you, and buy you a whole new life. You could have it all,” Shouko never wastes an opportunity to chastise him, albeit lovingly. She squeezes his cheeks with one hand, “See? Once you look past the eyebags, dead expression, and plain clothes you’re actually kind of pretty.”

Out of the three Hirugami siblings, Shouko was always described as the most beautiful while Fukuro was the most handsome. Sachirou, the youngest, had always been “somewhere-in-between.” His hair was curlier than his siblings’ (a mess to take care of), a lighter shade of brown, and everything that was rigid and hard on Fukuro was softer on him. While his siblings had strong personalities, Sachirou was more neutral in demeanor, always opting to slink into the shadows and only pipe up when there was an opportunity to strike back with wit. He was always considered the least dynamic of the siblings, never showing fear or hesitation. While school children his age would cower in fear listening to stories about the wicked Witch of the Waste and their insatiable fury, Sachirou would find himself unaffected. 

“Thanks,” Sachirou wrestles his face out of her hands. “Sorry to let you down, but I haven’t received any marriage proposals.”

“Not with that attitude,” Shouko sighs, accepting that her youngest brother was truly a lost cause. “At this rate Sachirou, not even that heart-thieving scoundrel the Little Giant would prey on you.”

“I thought the Little Giant only preys on pretty little things with big hearts. He won’t find one here,” Sachirou replies absently, unoffended by his sister’s remark. “Isn’t he already courting someone from Karasuno? Now that’s a land that could use the extra magic.”

“How do you know all of these things?”

“There isn’t much to do in Kamomedai, so my little hat shop has become a makeshift saloon for people to gather and spread rumors. Besides, if some magical person _did_ drop by my house and promised me a whole new world…” Sachirou pauses for a moment. It’s something he’s entertained out of boredom before, but isn’t wishy-washy enough to believe it’d come true. “I’d probably turn them down on the spot.”

Shouko lets out a disparaging noise of disbelief, almost knocking over an unfortunate inkwell. “You’re seriously impossible, Sachirou. You’re really going to waste your youth working at this stupid old hat shop that _you don’t even like_ , living this life that _you hate_ , all because of what? Tell me, Sachirou! All of us want to know why!”

The fun is over. This isn’t a conversation he’s bargained on having while being in such a piss-poor mood on May Day, of all days. He gets up from his place, grabs his coat and gives his sister one final, hard look. 

“Maybe you’re right. Shame on me for only knowing one boring life and not finding the freedom you and Fukuro love so much. _Maybe_ , just maybe I might be living this life because if _I don’t_ then no one will. Do you honestly think I haven’t _thought_ the same things you tell me every time? Of course I have. Of course I have because I _live it_ and everyone who’s outside right now gets to do stupid stuff like _be young,_ _fall in love_ , and _live eventful lives_ because they can afford the luxury that I can’t. There’s only one milliner in Kamomedai. That’s what dad and mom used to be, but now they’re not around anymore. So who’s going to do it? Not you, not Fukuro, _me._ I have order I have to uphold and I do it all by myself.”

Sachirou doesn’t say any of that. He thinks it in that one passing second, and wishes that he could transmit words through eye contact alone, wishes that he wasn’t born to be so obedient and polite even though he’s itching to tear out of his own skin. He looks at Shouko, and says absolutely none of how he’s actually feeling, because he would hate to make her feel guilty on top of all of this.

“I need to go out and get something to eat,” Sachirou mumbles, his voice cracking along the way. He hopes that Shouko doesn’t hear that part, walking past her as fast as he can and ignoring her as she calls out his name. Her calls become more distant. The space between them only increases in more ways than one.

Sachirou plunges into the crowd, almost immediately regretting his decision. He’s tall for sure, which gives him an advantage when it comes to looking over seas of people, but the market square is a real mess. Hordes of drunken young men brush up against him as they stagger through the crowd, reeking of beer and smoke while the sounds of multiple bands playing fill the air with cacophonous noise. He really wishes they would stick to one genre of music, his eardrums pounding with the asynchronous noises of ten different symphonies. He’s overwhelmed by the technicolor display of flags and flowers all blurred together in his vision at this point. He sees past the celebration into the mountains, catching a glimpse of the Little Giant’s famous moving castle, parked by Kamomedai’s famous Wisdom Tree, one of their prized landmarks. _Even he’s joined the festivities_ , Sachirou notes bitterly. _Probably in search of more hearts._

He’s being grabbed by random gaggles of girls looking for dance partners, shaking them off and finding himself in the company of sailors shouting obscene words at him that he’s glad he doesn’t understand.

_I don’t like them._

Sachirou isn’t even hungry anymore at this point. He just feels miserable and lost, a sharp contrast to the joyous celebration that he’s in the midst of. He knows he should’ve waited to go out at night as he usually does to avoid traffic and crowds, but at the time, he felt a desperate need to be anywhere but _there._ Sachirou feels like a fish out of water, dropped into a frying pan, and then in a last ditch effort to escape the hot oil, flopped straight into the fire itself.

_I don’t like this._

He ducks away from the crowd, spotting an underused alleyway for him to make his escape. Tearing away from a sea of hands, Sachirou slinks away into this small avenue of shops he doesn’t know so well, when he unwittingly bumps into what feels like a wall.

A living wall, Sachirou realizes, as he looks up to see two uniformed giants towering above him. They’re guards on break, he notes, recognizing their badges and weapons. “S-sorry,” he stammers out, turning around to go the opposite direction when one of the guards reaches out and catches his wrist.

Standing at 190 cm tall, it’s not often that Sachirou feels small. He’s always felt unbecoming of his height, often wishing that he could cast a spell on himself to shrink down to a size that made hiding easier. These guards were surely around 200 cm though, and Sachirou sees nowhere he can escape to. “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?” he asks with uncertainty.

“Unnan, look at this little mouse I’ve caught,” the blonde guard says with a smirk. He’s not letting go of Sachirou’s wrist. “No sweetie, you didn’t do anything wrong. As a matter of fact, you appeared at the right time.”

Sachirou doesn’t like where this is going.

“He sure is cute, if not a bit plain for my tastes. Still, I’m sure he’ll liven up with a few drinks,” the dark-haired guard bends over Sachirou, peering at him under his straight-cut bangs. “Come with us. We’ve been looking for someone like you all day.”

Sachirou tears his hand out the guard’s grasp, much to their surprise. He’s stronger than he looks, even though his strength is wasted on decorating hats all day. “No thanks,” he says firmly. He’s always had a disdain for local authority and their tendency to over-exert their power. “But if you’re implying what I think you are, I’ve remembered your badge numbers. So be careful what you say next.”

His response catches them off-guard, and he turns to leave when he feels one of the guards grab his shoulder too roughly. Sachirou shakes them off roughly, while the other guard blocks off his path to freedom. “Making threats like that is exactly what gets you into trouble,” the guard snaps gruffly. “It’s your word against ours.”

“And mine.”

Sachirou’s ears perk up as he hears an unfamiliar voice in the background, accompanied by light footsteps that increase in frequency. He hears one of the guards let out a yell as some unknown force slams him into one of the narrow walls beside them and squints as a bright light fills up the dark alleyway. Another unseen force knocks the other guard off his knees, turning 200 cm into 100 cm on all fours, begging for mercy. Sachirou’s savior makes his entrance, extending a hand to him as he admires the mess he’s made before them.

“I didn’t even need to touch any of you pigs and you’re already on your knees for me,” the stranger says, letting out a laugh as he kicks aside one of the badges. “The taller you are, the more I have to play with.”

“That’s an insult to pigs. They’re quite nice creatures,” Sachirou finds himself saying in defense of the animals. He brushes the dirt off his clothes. “6679 and 6680. Very convenient to have adjacent numbers. Makes memorizing them easier for the report.”

The guards open their mouths to yell out retorts, but the stranger lifts a finger up and their mouths… _zip_ shut. Sound effects and all, like their lips have been transformed into little coin pouches. “Go turn yourselves in,” the stranger says in a bewitching voice, swiping a finger in the air.

To Sachirou’s surprise, the guards stand up far too rigidly, salute them both, and walk in the direction away from the crowds and toward the station. He knows that whoever’s come for him is certainly one of those wizards that he hears everyone talk about, one of those rare talents who speak in spells and make the impossible possible. Finally alone with the stranger, Sachirou feels as if he’s been rendered breathless when they meet face-to-face.

The boy before him is dazzling in every sense of the word, his hair like brilliant white feathers that have been meticulously tailored to spike up like icicles and his eyes enchantingly luminous, like two dancing flames contained in glass orbs. He seems otherworldly and Sachirou has never felt more plain, and the expression in his eyes is strangely fond. 

“I’ve been looking for you, too,” he says, placing a hand on Sachirou’s shoulder. He’s about a head shorter, but his presence _feels_ colossal. “Where are you headed? I’ll take you there.”

Sachirou is now sure that he’s being mistaken for someone else, because there’s no way in hell he could imagine that such an extravagant being would ever go searching for him. He’s also sure that if he’s ever met someone like this, he’d certainly remember their name. “I don’t want to head back into the crowd, if you don’t mind,” he replies in a small voice. He’s not sure why his face is burning to the touch.

“Oh, we’re not going back there,” the wizard says with a glint in his eye. “We’re going _over_ it. Come on. Where do you want to go?”

Sachirou fumbles with the words that form at the base of his tongue. “The bakery,” he lies. To be honest, he had a cafe in mind but wasn’t sure if someone who wasn’t a local would know where to go. 

“Sounds good,” the beautiful stranger says, taking Sachirou’s hands in his. Way too easily, almost as if he’s all too familiar with them. “Also, don’t look behind you. I’m being followed.”

“Eh?”

Sachirou, all the more defiant, shoots a glance behind the wizard only to see clusters of shadowy hands moving closer toward them. Before he can react, the stranger sweeps him into his arms and jumps into the air, the wind brimming beneath their feet… Sachirou shuts his eyes, bracing himself for the impact of a landing that never happens.

Before he knows it, they’re flying. 

Suspended in the air with nothing else to hold but this strange man, Sachirou clings onto dear life way harder than he’s ever expected to. Moments ago, he was so sure that he was a boy who didn’t fear death, but now he’s holding on tight to a flying boy who’s way smaller than he is but probably ten thousand times more powerful. And the stranger seems to like it a lot. 

“You’re like a little brown bird who’s never spread your wings to fly before, aren’t you?” the white-haired boy teases, his hair blending in with the crowds. “C’mon. I won’t let you fall.”

Sachirou shakes his head, burrowing his face in the stranger’s flowing white shirt. The material is far fancier than anything he’s worked with before. _Am I really scared of heights? I’ve never been high enough to know._ He feels the stranger’s chest vibrate with laughter, directed at him.

The stranger gives a grimace. Usually when he takes his companions up into the sky, they show him a lot more gratitude and surprise, delighting at the chance to waltz along the heavens and stare down at the lowly subjects before them. Not this one, though. This one is definitely weird. “You know, a lot of people would kill for the chance to fly,” he says, taking Sachirou’s hand in his. He feels calluses and bandages, and makes a note to prepare a healing spell when they reach the ground.

“I belong on the ground,” Sachirou mutters, almost dramatically as he peers at the ground down below, hit with a rushing feeling in his stomach. “You see, it’s my home.”

“What are you, an earthworm?”

“No, I am but a lowly stone.”

“You’re weird. Just dance with me,” the wizard lets go of Sachirou (who somehow doesn’t yell) and glides behind him, gently taking the boy’s hands in his air and mimicking walking. “See? It’s easy.”

They fly over the array of red-bricked houses, walking through the air with little resistance and passing through clouds. The music is quieter up in the sky, and all of life’s troubles seem smaller— buildings are squares, people are dots, and hats are nowhere to be seen in the bustling ocean of colors below them. Sachirou is even starting to enjoy the feeling of the mist against his face, the little drops of moisture decorating his eyelashes like beads as the wizard seems to delight in their mutual enjoyment. 

“Now you get it.”

With the bakery in sight, the two dancers in the sky float gently down to a balcony overseeing the square, right outside the entrance. The wooden floor feels too-still and alien under Sachirou’s feet, he’s become used to the sensation of flying even if it was for mere minutes. He turns to thank his companion, only to be shocked by the wizard’s completely… disappointed expression?

“Why aren’t you reacting to anything?” the wizard’s eyes have become dinner plates as his voice becomes something reminiscent of a wail, his cool demeanor is completely gone.

“Huh?”

The wizard crumples to the ground, mere minutes after he was flying over the city with Sachirou’s hands in his. “I showed you everything,” he says, burying his hands in his face, only to peer up aggressively and point at him. “I showed you my magic… please respond!”

Sachirou hasn’t been monitoring his expressions throughout the whole escapade, but he could have sworn he’s been at least a point more expressive than he usually is.

Unknown to Sachirou, what’s “more expressive than normal” still looks “deadpan” to a complete stranger. Hirugami Sachirou remains visibly immovable, even in the face of such a display of power.

"I'm sorry?" Sachirou answers, trying to remember how a shocked expression would look like. He forms an “oh” with his lips, only to stop as the wizard covers his mouth with a hand and shakes his head.

“Please…” the wizard says, his voice an agonized groan. “If you have to pretend… it’s even worse. Just tell me. Were you surprised when I started flying? When I started using magic?"

Hirugami pauses. If he has to be honest, in a world where castles could move and hats could be bewitched to come to life, no— he wasn't surprised by a bird-looking man with the ability to fly. He's more surprised that such an interesting specimen would be interested in him at all. "It certainly was _surprising_ to be spirited away into the air like that by a kind stranger," Sachirou says, pursing his lips. The boy looks up, almost hopeful for a second. "I'd like a name, so I can thank you."

The wizard hesitates. He’s usually not one to give out his name, opting to use his usual pseudonym, which he likes far more. After all, it’s a flashier name that was granted to him by people in awe of his skills and protected his secrets from the troves of people who constantly prodded at them. A name that carries a reputation that he usually wants people to know about. 

He’s not sure what comes over him when he stares back at those large brown eyes and spits out his actual name instead.

“Hoshiumi Kourai,” the wizard says, realizing his mistake too soon as the words leave his mouth. He’s had his moment of crisis, quickly deciding that he doesn’t want _this boy_ in particular to know he’s the Little Giant and what comes with it. “And you?”

“Oh, me?” Sachirou is used to never giving his name. In the small town of Kamomedai, everyone knows who he is, and calls him by his family’s name. Hirugami. “I’m Hirugami.” He pauses. “Sachirou. I make hats.”

“I’ll remember that. Now don’t go putting yourself in danger when I’m gone okay? Seems like you’re a bit,” Hoshiumi flits around, feeling bare now that he’s given this person his full name. He moves his hands around to explain the feeling, noticing off the bat that Sachirou seemed to have a tendency to space out. “Not air-headed, but not quite here either. Distant? Absent? Either way, you should really pay more attention to your surroundings. Lots of things happening around you… you never know when trouble will strike!”

Sachirou laughs, touched by the stranger’s concern. “Don’t worry,” he says with a pleasant smile. Little does Hoshiumi know that he’s been blessed with a painstakingly boring life. “Trouble never comes my way.”

Hoshiumi doesn’t look all too reassured, but he averts his gaze back to the mountains. He spots a crowd has gathered around his moving castle, and doesn’t look forward to having to swat them away. “Well, I best be going then. Be good, Sachirou.”

“I’ll be fine,” Sachirou replies, arching his eyebrow at Hoshiumi’s words. He hates being told what to do by principle. Their hands meet briefly, their fingertips touching for a moment when Sachirou feels the ache of his joints disperse and bandages unravel to reveal perfectly healthy fingers. _He noticed._

Without a second glance, Sachirou shrugs off the daze that comes with a first flight and enters the bakery, thinking he’s escaped his fair share of magic for the rest of his life. Hoshiumi will never have to save him again, as he can’t imagine any danger that would willingly come for him. He’s just a boy after all. A boy who belongs with two feet pressed firmly into the ground.

He fails to catch a glimpse of a many-eyed shadow, lying flat on the wooden boards that’s taken in every word of their conversation. He doesn’t know that by association with Hoshiumi, he’s incurred the wrath of the shadows’ owner, who’s watched Hoshiumi with unblinking eyes for decades.

Sachirou doesn’t know how wrong he is. He doesn’t even know that danger is at his doorstep when he returns to the closed hat shop in the evening, intending on picking off where he’d left off, sewing cherry blossoms into a log. He hears the tinkling of bells as the door opens, despite him locking up minutes ago.

“Sorry we’re closed,” he says, not looking up from his work. He doesn’t know that there’s a shadow rising over him, rearing its ugly feathered crown of a head, cursing his existence with every breath. 

“Are you sure about that? You seemed very open to the Little Giant this afternoon.”

Sachirou glances up from his handiwork and finds his breath stolen for the second time in a given day. Gazing straight at him, a horror that could never be adequately captured by any picture book, is the Witch of the Waste themself, standing before them like a shadowy spectre of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> every time i say i'm done with writing hirugami and hoshiumi, a gay little JENNIE and/or oggy will bring up an AU idea that hooks me back in.... this has been a really fun art/writing collab and I hope we do more ^_^ thank you so much for reading and feel free to yell at me in the comments, i might consider continuing it but for now.... all i know is hiruhoshi howls moving castle AU...
> 
> also who would have thought we'd make something out of that... not me... especially since both of us were just talking about being in a slump yesterday! also oggy-- thank you so much for everything you do for kamomedai nation and this AU wouldn't have existed without the art you made for my meme... i wouldnt have thought of writing this in a million years if your artwork didnt inspire me so much dfkjhsjfh how do you do it!?!?
> 
> btw taking fic title recommendations bc this is driving me insane... i literally couldnt name it so i just freaking slapped the summary in


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